#AmericanWriters
I have minded me Of the noon-day brightness, And the cricket’s drowsy Singing in the sunshine. . I have minded me
THE old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that… Should weep?
If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it we… Too heavy!
With night’s Dim veil and blue I will cover my eyes, I will bind close my eyes that are So weary.
But me They cannot touch, Old age and death. .the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk!
I have no heart for noon-tide and… But I will take me where more ten… Shakes, fold on fold, her dewy dar… And shelters me that I may weep i… And feel no pitying eyes, and hear…
Dost thou Not feel them slip, How cold! how cold! the moon’s Thin wavering finger-tips, along Thy throat?
Joy! Joy! Joy! The hills are glad, The valleys re-echo with merriment… In my heart is the sound of laught… And my feet dance to the time of i…
Look up . . . From bleakening hills Blows down the light, first breath Of wintry wind . . . look up, and… The snow!
Well and If day on day Follows and weary year On year . . . and ever days and ye… Well?
Art thou Not kin to him Who loved Mark’s wife and both Died for it? O, thou harper in Green woods?
Scarlet the poppies Blue the corn-flowers, Golden the wheat. Gold for the Eternal: Blue for Our Lady:
Little my lacking fortunes show For this to eat and that to wear; Yet laughing, Soul, and gaily go! An obol pays the Stygian fare. London, 1910
JUST now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as st… A white moth flew . . . Why am I… So cold?
In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sigh… Of Greece.